


Eyes of the Maker

by Jessylane318



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, MGiT, Main character dies on the first page, Main character knows everything, Modern Girl in Thedas, Overcoming Trauma, Panic Attacks, She hates everyone equally, Sister to the Inquisitor, Sister-Sister Relationship, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Sorta reincarnation but not really, They think she's a nut job, sister bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessylane318/pseuds/Jessylane318
Summary: Piper died and that should have been the end, but it wasn't.Years later, scarred and angry, Piper made her sister swear to never go that god-forsaken land. But Ellana broke that promise. And now, faced with the enormity of knowing what's to come, Piper must struggle to put aside her hatred for people and magic in order to save the only person that's ever mattered. A story of sisterhood, overcoming trauma, and the desperate struggle to live.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

> Death is the night sky, the background against which the fleeting fireworks of life are displayed, an empty stage upon which the drama of life is played. – James Rozoff

.

.

.

When I imagined death, I had always imagined falling into a sort of deep sleep. Something quick and painless pressing from one state into the next, slipping into it like silk across skin. I never imagined the car crash, the bright yellow lights staring like eyes, looming ever closer, the crunch of metal and the taste of blood. It was slow. Heart-beating slow. I bled, legs crushed and lungs filling with blood, hysterical from the passenger seat.

My best friend, eyes open and bloodshot, mouth hinged in a silent scream, died beside me.

Sirens screamed, a shuttering tick, and this burning smell that seared my eyes, thick with smoke.

And then I passed.

I can't explain death, it's like trying to explain the taste of cinnamon. It was pungent, vivid, and overwhelming. I slipped into it as water slips through cupped fingers, clawing for life with a reckless abandon.

I don't know what made it all go wrong.

Maybe it was me, maybe it was fate, maybe it was the infinitesimal ratio of probability. I'm not sure I'll ever know, but somehow, in some way, I must have grabbed the right (or maybe it was wrong?) strand. And in an instant, instead of slipping away, I slid into place.


	2. Chapter 2

I snarl and press the horse to slow, running a hand through my blonde hair and catching it in the knots and leaves. I cling with the other hand to the reigns.

Haven.

I tremble beneath a shudder. Of all my plans for this life, this has been the very essence of what I'd intended to avoid. I'd even told the girl (stupid, idiotic girl!) as much before I'd left! There'd be nothing here but death, pain, and destruction. What was she thinking? The tiny hamlet, already bloated with makeshift tents, stretches down into the mountainside, flanked on either end by thick pines; a frozen lake. And judging by the massive hole in the sky, the seemingly endless array of demons—I'm far too late.

_Damn it!_

"Halt stranger!"

I turn, raking my eyes across the trail until I find the guard stationed there, his metal gleaming against the snow. He looks ragged, face ashen and gray, his armor dented and discolored. I stare at the poor soul standing in my way and level my best glare. He flinches, but stands in attention, blocking the road and entrance to the village with a nervous twitch.

Behind him, one of his subordinates, a young boy dressed as a squire in dirty leathers squeaks and takes off towards a crowd of tents just outside the gates.

Were I not so inordinately pissed, I might have been amused. Me, frightening? It was laughable really.

Now, though?

" _What_?"

"Your name and purpose, ser?"

I suppose it should be unsurprising they think me a man. I'm probably covered in enough dirt, my body thin and lanky enough that I'm unrecognizable.

"Piper," I say instead, "I'm here for the girl who fell from the rift."

My body twitches in the saddle, nervous and angry energy swirling inside, the horse beneath me whines. I've all but rehearsed it since the green cloud burst obnoxiously forth two weeks prior. There was no time to do anything but think, to worry, and to cling to some visceral hope. I had raced through the southern pass and through the mires and swamps of Ferelden, repeating that same mantra _please no_ , _please_.

"The herald? Hah, I'm sure! Everyone wants to see her!" he laughs, and I can tell he's done this a million times. He gains a little confidence, taking my annoyance with good humor.

My breath catches in my throat.

_Why? Why did she come? She swore. Gods, she had sworn against it!_

I swing down from the horse and stumble. The ground rising to meet me, and the horse whining in discomfort. I smooth Lady's neck, the ache in my leg throbbing from the recent wound, the sweat and dirt on her coat twining in my fingers. I grip the reigns and pull myself up, taking the weight off my bad leg. The guard's laugh lingers, but the concern rises, contorting his features.

It's like sandpaper, coarse and chafing.

"She's been named herald, then?" I drag in a steadying breath, trying to calm and find my center. I knew it would-could happen, but I hadn't thought to prepare, hadn't thought it would matter, it would even affect us… Hadn't even considered she might go…

"Yes, ma'am. They're saying she seals the rifts."

 _I'm a fool_ , I think. It leaves a bitter taste. The three weeks of non-stop travel, the stink of horse and people, the thick feeling of magic in the air, and the stiff wound don't help. I feel hollow, old anger rising up. "Very well, where can I find her?"

"I'll need to see your papers-"

"Excuse me," I snap, and he flinches. "If you can't find Ellana, I'll have you point me to someone who can."

"That would be me," says a man, and I turn to see a large, handsome soldier approaching in an assortment of armor, fabric, and _fur._ He walks towards us, the flighty guard from earlier trailing behind like a nervous pup. Hair, light and curled, waves in the wind and the exhaustion of battle lingers in his face, in the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the hollow of his cheeks.

 _Cullen_ , my mind supplies. _Commander of the Inquisition_.

Other thoughts crowd in, lyrium addiction, mage-hater, and more, but I press them back, too worn and brittle to deal with the knowledge that I'm _here_ in this place I had hoped to avoid. That I'm too late, that there's a hole in the sky, and it's _done_.

"I'd ask you to curtail your temper," he says coolly even as he crosses his arms and takes in the situation. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I am here to see Ellana Lavellan, or the herald as I'm sure _your_ _people_ are calling her. Your soldier is in my way."

"They are stationed there for that purpose," he responds. Even so, his eyes rake my body for weapons. Doubtlessly the daggers catch his eye, clearly exposed and pressed against my hips, along with the bow strapped to my back. The arrows are strapped to Lady, the horse that has taken me the last day's travel. One of the few fresh ones left recently traded in Farthing on my mad dash across the country. "What reason do _you_ have for seeing the herald?"

"As her sister, I'd say that's none of your damn business."

The commander pauses, an expression of confusion passing across his face, that too might have been comical if not for my foul mood.

"Her… sister?" He says, then shakes his head. "Impossible, you're clearly human."

" _You don't say_ ," I drawl at him in elvish. I bar my teeth and take a step forward. It's rather uninspiring as I nearly fall on my face and only my hands on the reigns and Lady's neck keep me upright. Something in the commander's face twitches, but I don't care. "You will take me to her-"

"Or what?" he asks and steps forward.

For a moment his image is replaced by another—darker hair, a pale face, red glowing eyes, purple lips.

I stumble again, and this time his arm is out, reaching towards me, a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. I can't help the full-body flinch.

I don't think. My body reacts on instinct. I draw my dagger. His guard lets out startled shouts, and his hand is there, large and covered in stiff leather. It wraps just below my wrist without hesitation. Holding me up while the other knocks away the dagger.

I reach for the other, blind panic rushing in, but he's too fast—too efficient. In only seconds I'm bare of all of my weapons and one of his men has my horse.

"You fuck-"

"Be silent," he says in a manner that tells me exactly what he thinks about this mess. He wraps my hands behind my back and barks at a soldier for rope, my weight resting on my good leg.

"Bastard!"


	3. Chapter 3

With my arms tied behind my back, Cullen leads me, hobbling, to what is clearly some archaic chantry building, and sets me in a pew. Rylen, one of the soldiers decorated and nearby, he sets as my guard and walks away.

It takes an eternity for him to return.

The wait is excruciating.

The bindings eat into my wrist, bruising the skin there and burning with any movement. My shoulder aches from the positioning and my leg thumps hollowly in my head. The wound, a gift from some lucky demon, is bandaged but it throbs under the dirty cloths, exhaustion washing over me.

Part of me, the rational part, buried under the keeper's condemnation and the weeks of too long travel, marvels that I'm not already locked in the cellars. The rest of me burns and rages, itching under the soft whispering prayers and sobbing cries of the pilgrims and conclave remnants.

I want to dig my nails into their flesh, terrified to fall into that same depression.

_Of all her stupid decisions… why this one? Why?_

"Piper?"

It's like tasting sunlight after weeks in the dark.

I stand without hesitation, nearly falling over in my haste. Ellana, dressed in a simple tunic and leathers, lingers in the stairwell, Cullen on her right looking clearly bewildered.

"Ellana," I whisper, my heart in throat.

She's paler and thinner than I remember, her face grayer with dark marks beneath her eyes. Her dark hair, normally long and braided, is sheared to her shoulders. And her hand… Her beautiful, unmarred hand is glowing.

Glowing.

_It's too late…_

She moves like a deer, racing forward like the little girl I once held, her tiny arms wrapping about my neck. It's more than I can hold, and we stumble, her body dragging me to the floor. My knees bang into the stone and I hiss, eyes slit with pain. She doesn't notice, her face buried in my chest, crumpled with me.

"Piper, you came! You came! I'm so sorry-I"

"Rylen!" barks the commander's voice.

Someone moves, thick, leathered fingers pressing into ropes at my back and I'm quickly untied. Ellana, tiny as she is, moves back, surprised. Her eyes, red, watery, and wide, looking up so terrified. It breaks something, some damn that's been barely held together for years. Sorrow, terror, anxiety, and a mass of others swarm me.

"What-"

Anger overwhelms me again. I stare at her face, suddenly infuriated.

_How dare she?_

I pull back, open palm, and slap her. The sound reverberates. How dare she? How fucking dare she!

The humans shout in alarm, and I'm viciously yanked back to my feet.

"Maker's breath!"

"Andraste-!"

"Did you see-"

Ellana, on the floor, stops crying to stare, wide-eyed, with a hand against her cheek.

"Are you mad?" demands Cullen as he rushes to my side, taking me from the captain as I buck. My leg spasms beneath me, completely giving out, and he pulls us backward and away. He holds me tightly and I feel the automatic struggle. My arms ache, my head throbbing with pain, and my bad leg pulsates with my pulse.

"Do you have any idea of what you've done!?" I snarl, completely ignoring him, spittle flying in fury. I want nothing more than to get free to shake her. Her hand, her damn, _glowing_ green hand just hangs there, rubbing at her face. A hand she _won't_ _have_ in a few years. "What were you _thinking_!? I _told_ you not to go! You swore! You swore to stay out of this shit!"

Cullen's hands are tightening, bruising, but I can't find it in me to care.

"I-"

"You what?" I shout. She flinches, catches herself, and then pulls herself up, scowling.

"Piper, I couldn't do nothing-"

"You damn well could," I spit. "You swore."

"The keeper and I-"

"Fuck the keeper!"

"Herald," interrupts Cullen. "She is insane. Are we really-"

"What in the Maker's name is going on here?" calls a voice, and I look up to see a dark-haired woman in armor followed by several others coming to stand nearby. _Cassandra_ , my mind supplies, _Leliana, Josephine._

I don't care.

"None of you _damn_ -"

" _Be_ _quiet_ ," Cullen commands, his voice overriding my own and full of derision. He pushes his thumb in a particularly sensitive spot, and I nearly go sideways, struggling to breathe. "This… _woman_ , and I use that term loosely, has attacked the herald."

"She's my sister," Ellana says, frustrated and annoyed. "Let her go."

"You can't be serious, she just-"

"I know what she did," Ellana says and I stare into midnight blue eyes. "She won't do it again. Now let her go."

Cullen, clearly still not certain, hesitates but eventually releases. Without his support I fall, unrestrained to the floor. Ellana, without hesitation, comes to my side again. She drags me to my knees, and I can't help but grab on. _She's alive._ The thought burns in my chest. I pull her close, burying her face in the crook of my neck, my nose in her hair. The fears, the terror that it wouldn't be her, that Trevelyan or Adaar, or who knows else would interrupt instead, swim in my mind again, shuddering out along with the new ones. The nearly paralyzing understanding of what is to come.

_Dragons, there's going to be fucking dragons…_

Her tiny body rolls with a sob and I hold on. I hold on for all that I have.

_I should have never left. I should have stayed, should have tried harder, should have… should have…_

It takes a moment, long and clearly awkward before someone clears their throat.

I look up with dry, aching eyes, to see the advisors staring uncomfortably back.

"Perhaps, we should move this elsewhere…"

Leliana gestures to the crowd, all quietly moving about.

"Ellana." She looks back, snot dripping from her puffy red nose and eyes swollen from tears. I'm reminded of when she was ten, when I first found her shackled in the caves. When I swore, I would protect her. My heart breaks again, old anger and fear fracturing like glass. It leaves me raw, jagged, and cold. "I… I can't stand."


	4. Chapter 4

Haven is exactly what I imagined it would be.

Overflowing, smelly, and unkempt. On top of that, it practically oozes with magic, thick and twisted and clinging. It's everywhere, in the forest, the mountains, the village—It all but bubbles in that damn village. Disgusted, I find myself sleeping outside its walls in a tent more often than not.

Even the allure of my sister and a bed cannot disguise the stench of unwashed humans, magic, and shit.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Ellana says. I look up from the fire and the small birds roasting on the spits to meet her gaze. "I want you to come."

"No."

We've discussed this three times, at least, this week.

_Are we really doing this again?_

"Why not?" she needles, and I sigh—loudly.

 _Apparently_.

" _You_ are the _Herald of Andraste_ , _you_ run around the country to protect the world with your fancy green hand. I am not. I will not be joining you. I have plenty to do out here."

"Alone in the woods," she says dryly. "Like what? You can't be actually serious?"

I narrow my eyes, lips thinning.

"Is that a problem, _herald_?"

"No, my problem is the way you've been treating me, _sister_!" she snaps before taking a looming step. "You show up with a leg wound you won't explain, you refuse to stay in town, and half the village thinks you're a witch in the woods. _Then_ you snap at everyone, including me, you won't tell me what you're doing, and I'm really not sure if I'll find you in one piece when I come back. Especially if the commander's looks are anything to go by!"

"The _commander_ ," I drawl, "will breathe a sigh of relief when you are out of my nefarious clutches. And of course, I'm snappish, do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you're in?"

"I've already apologized!" Ellana shouts, and I frown as she stands. "I know! I get it! Okay? Will you just let it go-"

"Let it go?" I reel. "Let go of what? You walking blindly into a clusterfuck of mages and templars-"

"Exactly!" she shouts, nearly hysterical. "Why won't you help me?"

"I am," I shout, and she stops as I shake with disgust, feeling that old fear rise up again. I can taste the sulfur, hot in my mouth, the smell of burning flesh still clear in my nose. It makes my body ache, pinpricks like raw, hot needles. "I just… I… not that way! Okay? I won't be any good out there. There are worse things to come, I'll handle them here."

She growls, fingers clenched, and glares.

"What are you talking about?"

"No," I tell her darkly. "I'm not warning you again."

Her fury breaks, like a wave across the rocks, and she deflates. She's small again, body shaking, and I sigh, opening my arms. She makes a little noise in the back of her throat, willowy arms encircle my neck, and I press her head into my shoulder, feeling the sob swell and stick, aching in my throat.

"I'm sorry Piper," she cries. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," I admit, raking my fingers through her hair.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she says, and I rub at her back when her voice cracks. "I don't…"

"I will never abandon you," I whisper, hugging her tighter, my voice becoming fiercer. "I swear it."

After a moment she stops, sniffling, before pushing us apart. Blue-gray eyes stare into my soul, rimmed in red, and despite the tear tracks, her face hardens in resolve.

"You were right, and I… I should have listened. But you… You can't hide in the woods. Promise me… Promise me that you'll visit Haven every day if only so they can't claim you ran away. I don't trust the spymaster not to make you disappear while I'm gone."

"I doubt she-"

"Piper!"

"Fine. I… I promise. I'm sorry too, Ellana."


	5. Chapter 5

With Ellana's departure, I find myself fulfilling the meat of my promise and less the essence of it. I diligently show up every day to drop off _something_ from the woods—elfroot bundles, extra meat from a recent hunt, or the location to an abandoned lumber mill hidden in some secluded groove. It feels awkward each time to pass through the gates, not knowing anyone outside of my memories. And with my bundles, at least I have a purpose and a ready excuse. I don't linger. I'm in, dropping off the item, and out before the next bell chimes. I know if Ellana were here she'd have grumbled and glared.

However, she leaves in the morning after with the apostate, I still can't so much as look at, the Seeker, and the dwarf for the Hinterlands.

I don't see her off. I don't need to be on the war council to know they're looking to find some Chantry sister locked in the fighting. I don't actually care, my mind careening instead around the other million problems to be solved.

Haven's defensibility is the largest and most pressing.

We have months, at most, before the dragon will come to burn through the fledgling inquisition. My own memories, more random knowledge floating in my head than actual visions and tempered by over a dozen years of disbelief and doubt, leave me anxious and snappish. That I'm stuck in a video game bled away early on. And now, after starving, struggling, and bleeding in this world, I wonder sometimes if _those_ memories aren't the illusion.

Except I have knowledge.

Knowledge of things that haven't been invented, knowledge of concepts not quite divined, and memories of events that haven't yet occurred. The blight had been my first sign. How could it not be? And with it the knowledge that, without a doubt, if she were to leave for the conclave, my sister would be left crippled and reeling.

Scratching the last white rock from the wall, I bite my lip and sigh, slipping back to rest on my heels.

My legs ache in the stretch, stuck too long in one position. But I ignore them. Instead I push the powder into the sack and tye the twine to hold it tight. The cave around me, an abandoned mine, reeks of magic and mildew.

 _Thank God I was such a nerd_ , I think, rolling my neck. I remember the uncontrollable thirst for knowledge that drove me before. I had been a teacher in that life, constantly reading and learning. It had been a comfortable life, surrounded by luxuries Ellana would never know. My worries were insignificant and obscure.

_Not how to stop an army, a dragon, and a revived god._

_What did I do to deserve this hell_? I wonder, not for the first time, and push the thought away. Lingering in those dark places offers nothing but pain.

The monster, _Corypheus_ my mind supplies, will come from the East, a templar camp in Ferelden after leaving Val Royeaux and their refusal to side with the chantry. Or from Redcliffe, if the Mages are left to Tevinter's care.

Neither can be allowed.

"What to do," I hum, glancing down at the saltpeter thoughtfully.

The easiest course for the army would be the road past Redcliffe. But that would leave them clearly exposed and easily spotted. The game hadn't been clear, but even with the scouts pulled Haven would have at least a few hours of warning had the soldiers come down the road. Redcliffe would send riders if an army approached it, and the game had shown them clearly off guard.

No, they would have had to come from the North or South. By my estimations, North, around Lake Calenhad, and through the foothills of the frost backs would be best. It would tire a normal army, but a surprise attack from the Northern hill would keep them well away from inquisition scouts, and with the Dragon, a surprise attack from the south would create a pincher move to seal them in.

In the game, Ellana would need to face this Corypheus alone. Her survival left to chance and fate as the others fled in her sacrifice.

_That cannot happen._

Regardless of the outcome, the attack would cripple the Inquisition, which in turn would cripple Ellana.

 _I will not give my sister's life to chance, no matter how fated this shit storm seems. They destroyed the armies with an avalanche before. I'll blow up every god damned mountain on this side of Thedas if I have to_.

Clinching my teeth, I push the bag against my back and press the knife into its sheath. I pick myself up off the floor of the cave. It's time to head back to camp.


	6. Chapter 6

Commander Cullen is outraged at my spot in the war room. Leliana, the spymaster that she is, looks little happier, and only Josephine manages to smile, politely, despite her pallor.

" _Why_ is she here?" Cullen asks, and I turn to Ellana with a raised brow, folding my arms and swallowing the _I told you so_.

"Because she's my sister," the elf says softly, steel-lined in her voice. "And more than that, she's brilliant. I'd have her opinion, her _educated_ opinion, on matters at hand along with your own."

"Please understand, herald," begins Leliana in a sweet voice, and I can nearly taste the venom. "While our faith in you has been continually proven, your… _sister_ has not shown the same dedication. As far as we can tell she has spent the last weeks scraping rocks from cave walls, burning woodpiles for tar, and procuring elfroot. All with little to no interactions with our people."

Ellana frowns, turning to me with a clear question in her eyes, but I only nod, accepting the criticism. She stumbles and I can only grunt in amusement at her lack of foresight. _Of_ _course,_ these people would oppose my presence, they would oppose hers as well if not for the magical green shit swirling on her palm.

"I- uh…"

"You're position here is both inadvisable and indefensible," I say instead, taking pity on my sister as she flounders for words at my seemingly insane behavior. The commander stiffens, clearly offended, and I press on, determined to at least defend Ellana's reasoning. "You are walled into the back by mountains and were a large enough force to attempt to take the city, the wooden walls will _burn._ Haven would be overwhelmed."

" _That_ is your great insight?" the commander asks, the disdain dripping. "Any man with eyes can see that. If that is all…"

I grit my teeth at his dismissal, my hackles rising.

"If you are aware, do you have an evacuation plan prepared?" I press, glowering. "Are the civilians trained in where to go and what to do? When we are set upon by the monster that destroyed the conclave, do you plan on walking people through the front gate? And where, exactly, do you plan to go? Maybe Redcliffe? I understand that the King is a great friend, certainly, that won't interrupt your diplomacy with Orlais-"

"And who are we to be beset by?" Cullen asks sharply. "Is there an army raised that you have secret knowledge of? As you said, the King of Ferelden is a friend. Is it his army we should fear? You deal in what if's, there is no manpower to the East large enough to pose a threat unless you consider the templars and mages who are currently plagued by rebellion and have no clear leader or purpose. So even _they_ lack the organization to be effective."

"And you think that… whoever destroyed the conclave would not use that to his advantage?" I sneer. Ellana is staring, but so also are the other two advisors. "What purpose is there, _Commander_ , for interrupting peace talks other than to build resentment, create chaos, and build power in the wake? Or is that not what the Inquisition is doing?"

"Are you saying you are aware of who murdered the Divine?" interrupts Leliana before Cullen can fire back, and I turn to her to see narrowed eyes.

I stop, backpedal, and realize the accusation in her words. _Shit_.

Ellana scrambles to cover, her face burning whether, from embarrassment or anger, I don't know. "What she knows is what information I have shared. She makes a good point! Which returns me to why I asked her—no—why I forced her presence here. To share knowledge."

If she had intended her words to protect me, looking at the faces around me, it is easy to see she's failed.

 _There will be consequences for this_ , my mind rails.

"Then let her say it," the spymaster asks, her face clouded as she leans forward, disbelief etched in her pose. " _Please,_ share your knowledge. Who murdered the divine?"

_That woman will smell a lie ten miles upwind. Will it really hurt for them to know his name this early on?_

"A dead man," I state stiffly. Josephine gives a little gasp, stepping back and dripping candle wax on the floor. Cullen leans forward, his hand resting heavily on his sword.

_How do I even explain knowing it?_

"What kind of answer is that?" the Commander asks, his voice rough. "Are you saying he died in the blast? Where would you even know this?"

"No," I repeat. "I'm saying he should be dead but isn't."

"Does he have a name?" Josephine asks, hurriedly scribbling on her tablet.

"Corypheus. One of the ancient Tevinter mages that attempted to take the Golden City."

Josephine's quill stills and the room stills. The Commander's nostrils flare, face purpling at my outlandish accusations.

"Impossible," Leliana interrupts coldly. "You would feed us fairytales. Perhaps you are a spy."

"She is not," Ellana snaps. "If she says its true, then it is. Besides, she would never side with a _Tevinter_ _mage_."

The room burns increasingly hot and I stiffen.

"Why would the instigator being a Tevine have any bearings on her allegiance?"

My throat closes, and I take a step back, lips thinning.

"I think we're done here," I say moving away, praying I look more in control then I feel.

 _She will go to the swamps to the south soon, then the coast after that_ , I think, focusing on anything other than this conversation. _I don't have time to play their games. I came, I offered my piece. But he'll be here too soon—too fast. I need a way to bury Haven, but not the mysterious cave passage through the back. I need a way to draw in and stop an army, alone, in the middle of fucking nowhere with nothing but medieval tools and a teacher's memories._

Turning to the advisors, I offer my coldest stare. "I'll escort myself out."

"A moment," Leliana interrupts, again, eyes like flint as they stare me down. "My question? Why would the instigator being a mage have any bearings on your allegiance?"

I flinch, teeth clenching at the memory of fire and smoke and ozone. I bury it beneath rage.

"None of your damn business," I say and walk out, slamming the door behind me.

The chantry is empty, cold stone walls covered in wooden icons and colorful banners. I stomp through it, eyeing the large statue of Andraste in disdain. I wonder if it will burn in the dragon fire or if it will crack beneath the rubble. _I hope it cracks._ _I'd certainly like to crack Leliana's face_ , I muse darkly. _Or at least her nose, damn bitch._

I don't get far before the sound of heavy footsteps, armor, and a quick stride swallows the silence. A thick, calloused hand is on my arm, turns me back around. The Commander stares, his brown eyes narrow and cold.

"Unhand me!" I snarl, slapping it away.

"Control yourself," he barks. I stiffen and jut my chin, defiant. "Your behavior is _beastly_. It's not hard to see why you live in the woods."

"What do you want?" I demand between gritted teeth. "Because I did not come here to be insulted."

"Then what _did_ you come for?" he takes another step forward, pressing into my space, a hand at my collar. I stiffen, the smell of burning flesh, imaginary—it's all in my head damn it!—closing in around. I swat the hand away and step back, taking a deep breath. Mountain air, thick with magic, and icy cold.

"What does it matter-"

"It matters because the Herald-"

"The _Herald_!" I laugh, my voice sharp and brittle as it crackles in the cathedral. Cullen stops, and I can see, written in his stony expression, he thinks me mad. Maybe I am. Who else knows this shit? "There is no _herald_ , commander. There is no Andraste, no Maker, no Elvhen Gods, do you know what there is? There is death and damnation out that door and a 24-year-old _girl_ stands before it."

I can tell, just from looking, he hadn't realized her age. I surge onward, reckless in the face of my own fears.

"What do you want, commander? My secrets? My allegiance? My trust? You have none of them, I will serve my sister, and if that means I have to scrape bat shit rocks from the walls to do so, to protect her…"

"You are mad," he says, and the conviction in his voice is deafening.

"Keep your insults, templar," I sneer.

"Why do you hate the mages?"

"Why do you?" I ask, snapping. "You want to explain those tremors or your red eyes?"

He flinches and I laugh. The sound is not kind.

"Leave me alone," I say. Then, turning, I walk out.

This time, he doesn't follow.


	7. Chapter 7

"So you're the herald's sister?"

"Yes," I snap, looking over my shoulder to see who has interrupted me. A dwarf with light hair pulled back and a swaggered grin stares back. _Varric,_ my mind supplies. _Merchant, Rogue, storyteller._ "Can I help you?"

"Certainly," he says. "You're quite the firecracker, aren't you?"

 _And the great giver of names_ , I think darkly. _I hate nicknames_.

"I prefer Piper," I answer shortly. "Was there something you wanted or are you just here to stare?"

"Ah, the direct approach," he grins, and I struggle to maintain my anger in the face of it. "Come out to the tavern tonight."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know the darling sister of our great savior, of course."

"That sounds like a very good reason to say no."

"Awe, don't be like that," Varric responds, offering a firm pat to the back. I frown and step away. Too handsy. "Come on, it'll be on me."

.

.

.

The tavern is dark, full of people, ale, warmth, and noise. I hesitate, again, before slipping into the building and into the overwhelming stench of ale, unbathed men, and stew.

"Firecracker!" calls a voice, and I see Varric's eyes, beady and steady, locked onto my form. Either he's sat watching the door all night, or he's hyper-aware of his surroundings. _Probably the latter._ "You came!"

Nobody makes any fuss at his shout and I reluctantly edge my way through. It's a simple thing, wooden beams cut into a simple shape, walls sealed with stucco for paint, and glass coated in dripping frost. The fireplace at the other end roars with fire, people line the tables so tightly I can almost taste their skin. It's suffocating and I have to work not to turn tail and run.

"Good evening," I try, but he only snorts into his cup.

"Not a people person, eh?" He asks as I sit, back stiff across from him. He flags down a server, exchanges some coins, and offers a delightful grin. "Surely it's lonely camped out all the time in those woods?"

"Maybe," I hedge and glance around for exits. "The lack of smell certainly makes up for it…"

He laughs, a loud heavy thing, and I can't help the smile that cracks at my lips. He stops, stares, and laughs again. _Just how much ale has he had?_

"So you _can_ smile!"

I scowl immediately, crossing my arms against my chest.

"Of course I can," I say even as a girl comes by, dropping a large mug in my view. I blink at the size and then the smell, before taking a cautious sip. It's warm, bitter, and buzzing. "What is this?"

"The good stuff," he says without hesitation taking a sip of his own. "Not that watered-down shit they've been serving the soldiers. I take it you don't drink often?"

 _I've got no tolerance for it_ , I think, but refuse to say. _This is unwise._

But that same recklessness that convinced me to go to the war room, that brought me here, takes hold again. It's a cold feeling, scratching at my chest, and it takes me a moment to register it. _Loneliness_ , I admit, blistering beneath the knowledge. _I should leave._

But I don't, instead, I sip the drink slowly through my teeth. Varric interrupted by another patron, is pestered into a story, and I find myself relaxing into the warmth. I barely notice the barmaid refilling my glass or the soft buzz of talk around me.

Part of me, a brittle part from before this life, aches at the familiarity and ease of the company. The Dalish, for all their supposed kindness in keeping me, would always see me as an outsider. Ellana, alone, did not.

_Sad, you're reduced only to the company of a child?_

"So what's the story?" he says, and I look up to see Varric grinning openly at me. "How does a human woman come to be sisters with a Dalish elf? I'd ask if you were part elf, but you haven't really got the frame."

"I'm not," I agree softly, the heat of the room warms my face, effects of the ale already loosening my tongue. "She was ten when we met. I… We saved each other. She's been my everything since."

He nods, and even in my haze, I can tell he's hungry for more. _Distract._

"And how does a dwarf of such _refined tastes,_ come into the company of a Seeker?" His grin is wryer when he takes his own sip.

"I think I like you, firecracker," he admits, and I can't help but duck my head at the praise, heat burning on my cheeks. He chuckles but makes no comment. "I got caught up in the shit storm that was Kirkwall. The seeker caught me in her search for the champion."

I take a sip and lean forward, just a little, as the men behind me stagger drunkenly out.

"And you came here?"

"Didn't get much of a choice," he laughs. "So what do two Dalish girls get up to in the Free Marches for fun?"

"I'm not Dalish," I correct him with a smile. "And that sounds awfully like prying. Ser Varric, are you _interrogating_ me?"

"Of course," he says leaning forward. "Is it working?"

"No," I admit, shaking my head. It's a mistake that leaves me dizzy, and I can't help but giggle as the world spins. "Though the drink is nice. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You have an interesting accent, firecracker; I've been trying to place it."

"And have you managed it?"

He laughs again, his eyes crinkling, and it feels real. Perhaps the first real one he's done tonight.

"No, will you give me a hint?"

"No. You wouldn't believe me even if I did."

"Now that's just cruel, you can't lead with that and not share more!" He opens his mouth to say more but stops as a man staggers towards us, jostling the dwarf for his attention.

I can't help but giggle at his annoyance, though it's not readily apparent on his face. He laughs, good-naturedly, and starts another tale, but I'm unsurprised when he turns in a way that I stay clearly in his peripheral.

I drain the last of the mug and offer him a smile. He's in the middle of the story, going on somehow about a drunk soldier, a lute, and a nug. And I snicker realizing there's absolutely _no_ way for him to stop without breaking rhythm.

"Thank you for the drink," I whisper sincerely, and I'm surprised when his hand stretches out, his audience still enraptured by the buildup, to press firmly against my own. He doesn't break from his tale and I draw away. "Goodnight Varric."

I stand, stumbling to my feet, and head out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

It is just my luck that despite the high moons and dark sky, the _Commander_ would be out prowling the yards. My good mood slips away, and I sigh, loudly, as he catches sight of me. Its been three days since the damn war council meeting. Not nearly enough time to forget the simmering rage.

_Maybe I can run…_

Swaying already, I somehow doubt it will work. Perhaps I should just head to Ellana's hut…

It's too late, however, when his fur and armor crowd into my vision, his face a grimace of pale skin and worried lines highlighted by the tavern lights.

"Ma'am, are you al-? _You_ …" His voice tilts darkly and I frown, the cool night breeze digging into my bones. His eyes are almost black in the night and I shiver. I sway, tilting sideways. His arm snakes out to pin me upright and I flinch. I know he feels it. "Are you _drunk_?"

"No," I sneer, though that may be a bit of a lie. If not I'm close, and my head feels uncomfortably foggy and full. "Well maybe…"

"I- Ugh…" He grunts and his fingers grip me a little harder. He pulls me forward and I stumble in the snow, feet tripping over stones. He holds me upright, his grip unmoving.

"Ow! That hurts!" I growl at him and I'm surprised when his hand immediately loosens, frown deepening. "Don't you have some soldiers to harass?"

"Don't you have cave walls to scrape?" he fires back just as quickly.

I scrunch my nose in disdain.

" _Saltpeter_."

"What?" he says, and it takes a moment to realize I've used English, not common, lacking an equivalent descriptor. He hasn't stopped, but he looks at me expectantly, eyes narrowed, and brows furrowed.

"I'm collecting _saltpeter_ ," I repeat, already committed to the thought. "It's a _nitrate_ found in the caves from the bat droppings. It's easier to collect than to make. You need _bacteria_ and shit to _decompose_ for like a year before it _crystallizes_."

"What language is that?" He asks after a moment; his voice is cooler. I wonder if he understood, the crazy hodgepodge of languages. Like Spanglish, commlish? Englommon? It sounds like a Pokemon.

When I stumble again, he slows the pace.

" _English_ ," I say. His eyebrows furrow in confusion and I can't help my own smirk. " _What_ , does the commander admit to not knowing everything?"

"You are a menace," he says, jaw clenching.

"Rather that than a templar," I drawl, and he stiffens.

"I thought you hated mages," he says lowly, and I can hear the anger curdling under his voice.

"I hate magic," I rebut. "I hate war, I hate dragons. I _hate_ the inquisition."

"Enough to spy on us?"

"No," and I'm surprised at my own laugh. "Enough to protect it from its own stupidity."

He's silent, and I roll my head, watching the stars sway. They're so different, all mixed up and rearranged. And the moons. I remember when I first saw them. That shit was crazy. Two of them!

"Why are there two?" I question out loud, leaning a little further back to stare at them. The commander stops, grunts, and pulls me back upright.

"What do you mean, why? Maker, whose idea was this?"

"Varric's," I giggle a little, wrinkling my nose. "It was an inter- tero-tero- interrogation. He thought the ale would crack me."

He pauses, mid-stride, and I stumble forward, bumping into a building. I shoot him a dark glare.

"Did it work?" He asks, clearly trying for suave. It comes out more bumbling and naïve.

"No," I laugh, knocking my head to the side. The world spins and sways. "Are _you_ going to try?"

He grumbles, his face pink.

"What does _saltpeter_ do?" he asks instead, and I'm surprised by the ease of his pronunciation.

"Nothing," I answer. I want to say more, but my sister's hut comes into view. The bald elf stands outside of it, locked in some sort of deep conversation, and she's leaning curiously close, like a student locked on his every word.

Bile rises in my throat.

The green power of the mark glows in her hand, flaring bright. I can't stop the rage; it burns up in my veins. Solas, the owner of that power, just stands there, not even sorry for it. At our approach, she turns, wide-eyed, so innocent.

"Bastard."

He releases me in an instant, his hands darting away as if burned. I laugh, falling sideways into the building and grinning nastily at his face. If not for Ellana, quick and scurrying, I might have fallen completely. I don't pay attention to the Commander's clipped goodbye, or the elf's lingering looks.

"Piper, are you _drunk_?"

"Yes!"


	9. Chapter 9

"So, let me get this straight, you got _drunk_ with Varric, and then got stopped by _Cullen_ on your way out?"

"Yes," I sigh, leaning back into the bed from my sitting position on the floor, and trying not to wrinkle my nose at the permeating smell of shit clouding the air. How anyone can stand to live in this cesspool I can't understand. The scent _clings,_ sticking to your clothes and hair for days.

"And he walked you home, like a gentleman-"

"Like an ass," I correct, narrowing eyes at the ceiling with a huff. "More than likely to keep the village pariah from wandering about unsupervised."

"And _you_ snipped at him the whole way?"

"He started it," I growl, picking up the small piece of charcoal and returning to my drawing. The portrait of Blackwall is cartoonish, his arms folded, his lips twisted in a pout. The tiny elf woman grins, I can sense it in the way she leans over my shoulder, her dark hair spilling across my chest and her vallaslin reflects in the light. "Why are you smiling?"

"Who is that?" She asks. I roll my eyes at the topic change. _Ridiculous._

"Blackwall, you'll meet him soon enough I imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you heading back to the Hinterlands or the mire next?"

She snorts and sits up.

"I will never understand how you do that!" she admits. I don't put down the charcoal and she goes on. "Do you know how weird it was to meet Varric? He looked just like you drew him. But you know what's even weirder, you drew him 10 years ago! How do you do that?"

I shrug.

"I just know."

"Like you knew about the temple getting blown to bits?"

There's an accusation there, I can hear it. I narrow my eyes, cutting my eyes in her direction. She raises a delicate brow, waiting.

"Yes."

"What are you doing with tar and the cave rocks?"

" _Saltpeter_ ," I shrug, smudging the background before putting the picture to the side and stretching out. I carefully don't touch my face.

"Saltpeter," she repeats dutifully, rolling the word over her tongue. " _English_? What is it used for?"

"The rocks are _saltpeter_ ," I admit, dragging out another sheet. "It's used to make _gunpowder_. But I can't do anything without the _sulfur_ and _charcoal_. I've got a decent amount of _charcoal_ , it's easy enough to get, but the _sulfur_ is harder to find so far in the mountains… what?"

" _Gunpowder_?" she asks, tripping a little over the syllables. Eyebrows rising curiously. " _You've never used that word before?_ "

Her knowledge of English had grown steadily since we had met, something she had picked up while teaching me Common all those many years ago. I so rarely got the opportunity to use the language, and the words had become almost sacred to me.

" _No,_ " I admit. " _I suppose not._ _Gunpowder is a type of weapon. The_ Qunari _have a similar item, they call it black powder. I intend to create explosives, something to stop the armies._ "

 _"Armies!_ " she asks. Her voice pitches higher and I frown. " _Wait, what armies?"_

"Calm down," I say, speaking in Common, eyes narrowing at her quickening breath. It has been years since her last panic attack. I stand, gathering her up in my arms. There will surely be more. "I have a plan."

"A plan," she asks, disbelieving. " _What_ armies?"

"We have months, Ellana."

"The advisors-"

"Will never believe you," I remind her, running my fingers through her dark hair, much like I did when she was a child. The panic eases from her, slowly, though the fear remains. "Or have you forgotten our last meeting? Keeper Deshanna didn't believe me, and she knew far more, even after everything I predicted."

"Yes, but an army!" Ellana frowns, her face still worried and I can see the lines of stress already growing on her face. "And that was different. It was ten years ago at least, and we were in the free marches. A mountain range between us and Kirkwall, and the Waking sea between us and Ferelden."

"Yes," I admit. "But these people already think I'm a crazy forest witch-hermit, and they barely tolerate my presence as is. Telling them I know about your plans to go-"

"And about that," She says, eyes wide. "how much _do_ you know?"

"Ellana-"

"You admitted to seeing the conclave! I thought… I thought it was just because of the mages. Deshanna implied as much-"

 _Keeper Deshanna_ , even the thought of her makes me want to snarl.

"Come with me," she tries instead, eyes wide. "Come with us to the Fallow Mire, _please_? You need _sulfur_ , don't you? Can you find it there?"

"I- Yes, but-"

"Then come with me, please."

" _Ellana_ , I am not a fighter, you know that."

"I'll protect you," she says. She says it with such resolution, I can't help but smile adoringly back, reminded of the tiny, ten-year-old spit fire clinging tightly and refusing to let go, even as her people stared at us both in shock and disbelief.

"You always have," I remind her, pushing the hair from her eyes. I sigh and sit up, stretching out the kinks. _This is a terrible idea._ Looking into her worried, dark eyes, I can't help but miss this, miss her. We've never been separated for so long. Longer than we ever were before.

"This is a terrible idea."

"We've had worse," she whines. "Like when we tried to attack the slavers."

"Yes, but it was just us then, this time there will be more. Not the least being the apostate. Are you even going to explain my purpose?"

"He won't hurt you," she defends, wrinkling her nose. "He's a friend. And you liked Varric well enough. You can be my advisor. You know what's going to happen there anyway, don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then come," she pleads. "Please Piper, I… I'm scared, and I… I miss you."

She looks away and my heart cracks. I close my eyes. _This will not end well._

"Fine, I will come _part_ of the way." She moves to argue, but I give her a steady glance and she quiets. "When do we leave?"


	10. Chapter 10

"Firecracker!"

I level the dwarf with a droll stare.

"That is absolutely horrid."

"You think so?" He laughs, pushing his horse up to walk beside my own. The road here is wide and well-traveled, winding through the White Peaks just west of Redcliffe and lined with trees. The intention is to veer south soon, breaking away towards Ash Lake and to cross at its mouth. "I think it's rather apt myself, now what's got you out of the woods and off on our little adventure to the South?"

"Besides my sister's insistence?"

"Well, maybe?"

I can't help but chuckle at his antics.

"I'm here for moral support," I admit with a little smile, and then, glancing towards the elf edging ever closer to my sister, "and _supposedly_ to advise."

"Yeah, that spot seems a little full lately," he admits with a chuckle.

"No kidding," I shrug and shake my head, glancing out towards the mountains towering high to our right. The Frostbacks gleam in the sun, their white tops mixed with gray stone and speckled, at times, with pines. They look like jagged teeth, prepared to rip into any foolish enough to cross them.

It leaves me shivering, bones cold.

 _We're going to have to cross them_.

They would need food, stored along the route. _North_ , I recall. I had started, but it wasn't enough. It never seemed to be. I'd had time to haul two bears over the weeks, chopped and quartered and salted for fear of frost into the tundra. The snow, thankfully still stiff and thick, now hid most of the prizes.

"Looks like some heavy thoughts there," interrupts the dwarf, and I blink, startled to realize he's been watching the whole time.

 _Observant. Dangerous_.

"I need _sulfur_ ," I offer with a shrug, well aware he can probably sense my lie. "I'm hoping there's a hot spring on our journey south. I won't follow you past Ash Lake."

"I'm sure there's quite a few," Varric says. "They're scattered all around these ranges. I wouldn't mind stopping at one either, to be honest."

He waggles his eyebrows and I can't help but laugh, loud and clear. When nearly the entire group turns to stare, I blush. Ellana, in particular, looking particularly smug.

"Ugh…" I groan, face heating as I turn to look _anywhere_ else.

She turns back forward, and from the set of her shoulders, I can tell she's laughing. _Brat_.

"Awe, don't mind them," Varric says and takes a deep drink of the flask on his hip. I try, helplessly, to let my face cool. It's no use. Especially with the Seeker glancing constantly back in concern. "It's the first time anyone's heard you laugh—well really laugh I mean. You lose your whole, witch of the wilds vibe when you do it."

I purposely don't look at the smirking dwarf.

"Lovely."

"Come on now firecracker! Don't tell me under all that bluster you're shy!"

"Varric!" I all but snarl, my face burning.

"Alright, alright!" he finally stops. I glance towards him, peeking under my lashes, and immediately turn away, his face stretched in a shit-eating grin.

_This is a terrible, terrible idea._


	11. Chapter 11

“I think there’s a rift up ahead,” I murmur to Ellana, the second day out. I hadn’t thought anything of it at first, but the strange pull has been knocking against my head and leaving me nearly cross-eyed with every approaching step.

Ellana looks at me, surprised and frowns taking in the others

“How far?” she asks, aware that the group is staring curiously.

“Maybe a mile or two, straight ahead,” I say, guessing. We can’t see anything through the trees and I can only truly guess.

She offers me a particular stare—asking how I know, how I keep doing this, if I’m going to share more, if I will be alright. I frown, understanding, and glance at the horses and lack of space. She nods, mouth tightening as we both dismount.

Varric is the first to break the silence, pulling his crossbow from his shoulders.

“We gonna finally see you fight?” he asks, curious.

“No,” I admit, my smile more a grimace. I rub my shoulder, tasting the magic in the air. “I’d be in the way more than anything. I’ll watch the horses, so they don’t bolt.”

“You cannot be serious?” Cassandra asks, face arrayed in disbelief.

“Leave it,” Ellana says, her voice sharp. “She stays.”

“’Fraid of the demons?” Varric asks, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. “Can’t say I blame you. Though I didn’t particularly set you as craven.”

“Varric!” Ellana says, but the damage is done.

I look at him, shadows in my eyes, and frown.

“Then it’s good we’re not so well acquainted, isn’t it, Ser Tethras.”

“The rift?” Solas interrupts, and I glance towards him to find just as much disapproval, unspoken. The warriors collect their weapons and I heave a silent breath at their departure, resting my face on my horse’s neck.

Shame, fear, and anger, that ugly anger, burns inside me. I swallow it down, letting it burn in my gut as I walk the edge of the clearing. I collect a bundle of herbs and find a set of tracks. Deer.

When they return, stiff and smelling of ozone, I have eyes only for Ellana. She shakes, still riding the high from the fight, and I grimace, my own body shaking with the nervous, worried urge to move.

“Go,” she says the moment we lock eyes, and I don’t hesitate.

I nod, tossing her the handful of herbs, and throw myself on the horse, darting into the forest.

.

.

.

My return, several miles further from where we stopped, is met with frost despite the dressed doe strapped at my back and the satchel full of sulfur on my hip. Only Ellana looks up and smiles. It’s like staring in the sun.

“You brought deer?” she asks greedily. I nod, disgruntled, and pull the creature down from the saddle. I drop it at Cassandra’s feet. The seeker snorts, unimpressed. “Did you find the _sulfur_?”

“Some.” I pause, feeling the itch to prove my worth. _That’s stupid. Who cares what they think?_ Switching, languages I change to English. “ _You should know, the missing soldiers are being held by_ Avvar.”

She frowns and furrows her eyebrows.

“The Avvar have the soldiers?” she asks in Common, and I’m annoyed when the others turn to glance at us.

“The Avvar live in the mountains, not the mire,” Solas says across the fire, disapproving. “Why would they kidnap Inquisition soldiers? They consider the lowlands beneath them.”

That hadn’t been for his ears, but the reproach grates.

“Perhaps because a _herald_ contradicts their own pantheon?” I say, bristling. His attitude, his secrets, his entire position in this mess, chafes at me. _How dare he sit there and act like he knows all when this shit is his own mistake?_ “Or maybe because a third son wants recognition, and what better way than to get it then luring in and destroying the upstart Inquisition’s leader?”

Solas is quiet, eyes glittering in the firelight.

Ellana shifts closer. Leaning over, she unrolls a map as Cassandra protests.

“ _I am telling you,”_ I warn her, lips thinning. “ _Not them.”_

 _“We are a team,”_ she answers instead, eyes narrowed in contradiction. “ _The advisor will not believe you, but they will believe her.”_

She nods towards Cassandra, and I can see the group following our conversation with narrowed eyes.

_“And if I don’t care for them to know?”_

She doesn’t answer, but by the set of her jaw, I can tell she’s going to be stubborn about this.

“Where are they?” she asks instead, switching back to Common. As if sharing my foreknowledge with these… these strangers can be reduced to a simple question. She doesn’t repeat herself, waiting.

Reckless, unwise, and ridiculous. We’re at least two days from the river, and five out from the mire, there’s no way for me to know this much without exposing myself.

 _I didn’t particularly set you as craven_.

The words drag through my skin, scraping at my senses and settling like hot irons in my throat.

“There,” I say, pointing particularly hard at the map to a mostly unmarked area tilting towards the northern side. _Hargrave Keep_.

“And you know this how?” Cassandra asks, eyes narrowed and thin lips. “Herald, would it not be better to meet the scouts as planned and gather information? We don’t even know that the Avvar are even involved.”

“Is it just the Avvar?” she asks, completely ignoring the Seeker, and I grimace at this public purview.

“No,” I admit. And then in English, “ _The rifts are also animating the undead_.”

“Stop that,” Ellana chides, before repeating my words in common.

“And you learned this all in the woods?” Solas asks. Varric, silent up until now, nods just as suspicious. “What are your sources?”

Standing, I look at Ellana, she doesn’t say anything but waits. Silently asking me to explain, to explain what she’d continuously wondered but rarely questioned. Who I was before. How I know these things. I debate, struck for a long moment, and imagine, just for a second if I could. But reality, like a cruel mistress, settles back and I shake my head. Where would I even start?

_Your lives were a game and I was pathetic enough to play it, instead of living my own. My sources are the memories of a long-dead woman who wasn’t even from this world._

I turn away, grabbing my tent and sleeping skins, and scowl.

 _I didn’t particularly set you as craven_.

And I don’t trust them, regardless.

“None of your damn business,” I say at the elf. I can taste the ozone, feel the fade rippling around him in a steady wave. I unroll my things several feet from the fire under a rather sturdy pine. Ellana frowns, we’ve shared a tent every night until now.

I separate myself from the group knowing, bitterly, she will stay with them. I don’t bid them goodnight, I don’t help them cook the deer, and instead, I bite into some jerky I had prepared ahead and begin mixing my ingredients instead. The sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter turn black beneath my pestle. Pulling out a leather-bound notebook, I write with a small slab of charcoal, neatly in English the ratio.

Nobody approaches.

I convince myself that’s fine.

“Just wake me for my watch.”


End file.
